My whole body went cold.
Behind the officers, Vivian Turner began to cry without making a sound.
Richard did not move.
My mother let them inside because what else could she do? You cannot leave the past standing on your porch forever. Eventually, it enters.
They sat in our yellow kitchen.
The same kitchen.
Not the same cabinets, not the same stove, not the same floor, but the same room where my life had split into before and after. My mother and I sat on one side of the table. Officer Hale and Fire Marshal Briggs sat across from us. Richard Turner stood near the doorway like a man refusing to belong to the room. Vivian sat with her hands locked around her purse.
No one offered coffee.
No one pretended this was normal.
Fire Marshal Briggs placed a sealed plastic evidence bag on the table.
Inside was an old cassette tape.
Then another bag.
Inside that was a small metal object, blackened at the edges.
A toy fire truck.
My breath caught.
“I had one like that,” I said.
My mother made a strangled sound.
“You slept with it for months.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You wouldn’t let it out of your bed after your father died.”
